


Touched By Your Grace

by IndigoDream, Keiiek



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Family, First Kiss, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Getting Together, Himbo Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier's family is big and loud and very loving, M/M, Meet the Family, Trans Female Character, trans OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29592099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoDream/pseuds/IndigoDream, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keiiek/pseuds/Keiiek
Summary: When Jaskier receives a summon to return to Lettenhove from his sister, Geralt finds himself tagging along. He had no idea that Jaskier is the Viscount, and finds himself charmed by the beautiful little town, where he meets fascinating new people. There is none as fascinating as his bard however, and Geralt learns to accept his blossoming feelings.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 33
Kudos: 267
Collections: GRB2020 Team Works





	Touched By Your Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello~!
> 
> This fic was written for the [Geraskier Reverse bang](https://geraskierreversebang.tumblr.com/), with art by the amazing [Nol-Nol](https://nol-nol.tumblr.com/) who you can find on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NolIllustration) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/nolnol_draws/)! 
> 
> I had a blast writing this piece, and I mayyy have gone overboard with the OCs, but you know what, I wanted to give Jaskier a big, loving family, so. No shame!! 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this <3!

Geralt dislikes Novigrad, always has. It stinks, everything too loud and grey, an eerie mix of too much and not enough. He is only there because Jaskier insisted on coming in to check with the friend he has who keeps his letters during the year. It's a scheduled trip for them now; three or four times a year, whenever they can afford to, and Geralt has learnt to go along with it. Jaskier is a force of nature when he wants to be, despite all appearances, and the witcher would rather not cross him. 

“How odd,” Jaskier says as he steps outside of the small house he had spent the last hour in. 

Geralt hadn’t been allowed inside, and he hadn’t wanted to move either. Waiting outside had never bothered him, so he had stayed with Roach there. After all, the bard, despite needing his friend’s help, didn’t quite enjoy the man’s company. He had been a professor’s assistant when Jaskier had been in Oxenfurt, if Geralt had understood properly, and while Jaskier had held some regard for his music for a long time, now that he had made his opinion on witchers clear, the man was no longer favoured by the bard. 

“What is?” Geralt turns his head to look at his friend, who is frowning down at a letter. “Bad news?” 

“Not as such,” Jaskier says, still looking at the cream coloured paper. A faint scent of jasmine escapes from it. “My presence at my family’s estate is required.” 

Geralt stops in his tracks. He had been moving back to Roach so that they could head to the inn they had chosen to stay in, at the city’s gates, but Jaskier’s words sent a shiver down his spine. He’s leaving?

“Why?” The question pales in comparison to everything Geralt wants to ask, but it will have to do. He continues, a bit hesitant. “When would you have to leave?” 

“The letter doesn’t say why, but it’s either a death or a wedding. Technically I’m the Viscount so I have to be present, but—“ 

“Wait, you’re a Viscount?” 

Jaskier gives him an odd look. “Yes? Viscount of Lettenhove.” 

“You’re a Viscount,” Geralt repeats dumbly. “Since when?” 

“For the last seven years? Did you really not know?” 

“You never told me!” Geralt says, outrage going through his voice. “I knew you were noble, but a  _ Viscount _ ?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” Jaskier groans, starting to walk towards the inn. “It’s just a title. My mother and siblings are the ones in charge of the estate. Lydian and Calrinia are very good with the upkeep of the books and the estate, and Mother is better than I ever will be at organizing parties.” 

Geralt follows in his steps, holding Roach’s bridle tightly. “You love parties.” 

“Yes, I adore them. Dances that last until the morning, warmth born from bodies flushed close together for hours, music that makes your ears ring…” Jaskier sighs, happiness from his imagination seeping through his words. “But unfortunately, I was not blessed with organizational skills. Quite the opposite in fact.” 

The overfilled pack of the bard comes back in Geralt’s memory and he has to agree that Jaskier is not the most organized man he has met. In fact, Jaskier might be the least organized person he knows, which isn’t saying much; Geralt’s acquaintances are mostly witchers, mages, and the odd innkeeper or herbalist. Jaskier doesn’t have much of a chance compared to all of them. So he hums, and keeps walking. 

“As to when I would have to leave, the letter arrived two weeks ago, and required my immediate presence. We will most likely have to leave in the morning—“ 

“We?” Geralt tilts his head to the side. “You want me to come with you?” 

"I... yes? I have told my family that you were my travel companion, and they are clearly expecting me to come accompanied to this. Which means it's likely a wedding! How exciting." 

"Are you sure they will want someone like me there? Not many people want a Witcher as a party guest." 

"You are my best friend, Geralt! Of course you are welcome. In fact, I insist you come along. It's high time you meet my family! Calrinia has been begging to meet you ever since the first winter we parted, and I know that Lyndian is as excited as well, though they may not show it." 

"You will have to tell me more about them then." Geralt tries to not let the excitement he feels fluttering in his chest show; he is no Jaskier, and emotions have never been his forte. If he were to try and show them, he is almost certain they would come out angrily, in glares and grunts that he could not control. Witchers weren't made for the kind of happy, carefree life Jaskier leads. 

"So you'll come?" Jaskier seems surprised, albeit pleasantly. "Wonderful! I'll send word along of our coming, so that our rooms are readied at once and we can arrive there comfortably." 

Geralt hums, breathing deeper as they pass the gates of Novigrad. Jaskier had insisted they spend the night outside of the city to make it more comfortable for the witcher, despite the fact that it meant a longer walk to their resting place. They had planned a few days in the city originally, but they had wanted to make sure that Geralt could find some sort of job first. Now, their plans to stay are severely compromised, what with the looming family reunion in Jaskier’s future. 

“When should we leave then?” Geralt asks as they get closer to the inn, the noises of people and laughter starting to reach his ears, and he sees Jaskier perk up as well. “Should it be in the morning?” 

Jaskier sighs, twisting his hands together a bit after pocketing the letter. “I suppose so. I am quite worried though, it was Calrinia who wrote, and she rarely does so… Lydian will always find another way to contact me if they need me around.” 

“I’m sure everything is fine,” Geralt says as reassuringly as he can. “If there was something wrong your sister would have said so.” 

The bard hums, unconvinced, and Geralt puts his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. He has no idea how to reassure his friend. Jaskier is the one who is good with people, the one who knows what to do when people are distressed. Geralt is lost here. Still, Jaskier doesn’t seem too thrown off by it, leaning into the touch. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs as they arrive at the inn. “I will have dinner ordered for us, and we can leave at first light in the morning.” 

It is the first time in twelve years that Geralt hears Jaskier saying this. Usually, the bard is always arguing to stay a little longer in bed, to get some more sleep, to leave later… But not this time. Geralt understands. Before heading back to Kaer Morhen, he is always excited and nervous. What if it is the year one of his brothers doesn’t come back? Kaer Morhen may be home, but it is also a tomb for witchers. Not to say that Lettenhove is the same, or at least Geralt hopes that it isn’t for Jaskier, but the dreaded excitement of homecoming seems to be similar. 

Sighing, he goes to put Roach in the stable, making sure that she has enough water and food for the night. The mare must understand that her master is getting them ready to leave soon, despite their arrival in the early morning, because she pushes at his shoulder gently. Caressing her muzzle, he apologizes for the lack of rest, and she headbutts him delicately again. If she were capable of speech, he is quite sure she would be calling him an idiot and telling him that it isn’t his fault. 

Dinner is had in relative silence, Jaskier giving him some information about his family, but not much. Geralt gathers that the oldest sibling is Calrinia, a woman of excitable character who has yet to choose a spouse. Jaskier seems quite fond of her, considering his tone as he explains that she was the one to give him his first book of poetry. After her is Lydian, Jaskier’s second eldest sibling. They are the one in charge of the Lettenhove Estate — Jaskier remains vague on why he can’t give them the title of Viscount — and Geralt notes the admiration in his companion’s voice, and the pride, when he mentions that his sibling is an upstanding person who learned at the court of King Vizimir of Redania.

Jaskier quiets down when Geralt asks about his parents, and a quiet “my father passed the title onto me a few years ago” is enough to remind Geralt of how exactly titles get passed down in noble houses. Offering his condolences — when the fact had happened years ago most likely when Jaskier was already travelling with him, and one he attempts to ignore, for fear of the guilt that could easily swallow him — feels rather useless. He does apologize for his clumsiness, but Jaskier smiles. He seems at peace with whatever has happened, and Geralt doesn't press the issue. He knows how difficult it can be to get over a death, and he would rather not reopen an old wound. 

Jaskier doesn’t play that evening. They both go immediately to their room, a shared two bedroom, and Geralt falls asleep listening to Jaskier’s uneven breathing, the bard still awake anxiously. 

They leave before first light, before the sun even peaks over the horizon. Neither of them has slept well, but they do not say anything; there is no need for words. Lettenhove is two days away by horseback, but since they only have Roach, they will take an extra day, and that makes Jaskier antsier. By midday, Jaskier has said so few words that Geralt is actively trying to engage the conversation, his attempts a bit desperate, and that makes the bard smile, finally. 

The three days of travel go fast. For short periods of time, Jaskier sits behind Geralt, and Roach carries them at a trot for a bit, until Geralt deems the mare too tired, or Jaskier complains of the discomfort of the position. But mostly, they walk without stopping. 

Lettenhove is a charming town, large and well populated, situated on the coast. There are a lot of farms surrounding the area, and Geralt watches curiously, surprised by the shift in Jaskier’s attitude as well. On the road, he had been tense and worried, and when they traveled he was a peacock, strutting for attention and the smallest crumbs of affection. Here, his shoulders fall naturally to a straight line, and his face relaxes, the sun warming it gently. This place suits him, Geralt realizes, and he wonders why the bard left. 

When he asks him the question as they near the gates of the city, Jaskier laughs a bit. 

“I love Lettenhove, always will. It has my family, my childhood, a part of my heart… But it was never going to be what I needed to be happy. I was greedy for a life of travel and new knowledge, for the thrill of adventures. I got what I wanted.” He smiles brightly, a true smile for the first time since he received the letter, and squeezes Geralt’s arm. “I wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world. After all, I haven’t spent seven years looking to get Lydian named the ruler of Lettenhove for nothing, after all!”

Geralt smiles a bit, gently amused by his friend, and accepts his answer. 

“Your lordship,” the guard at the gates exclaims as they see Jaskier as they bow. “Welcome back.” 

“Thank you, Lonard.” Jaskier’s smile is strained this time, his discomfort with the title clear to Geralt. 

“I’ll escort you to the estate, your lordship,” Lonard says, clearly eager, and Jaskier winces. 

“That won’t be necessary Lonard. My friend here is a witcher, he will be most apt to protect me. And I trust all the people of Lettenhove.” He placates the guard with a hand on their shoulder as he passes by with Geralt. “I would feel safer knowing that such an honourable man as you is guarding the doors of our beautiful city.” 

Lonard preens and nods. “As you wish, your lordship.” 

Geralt hides an amused chuckle as they keep walking, and Jaskier gives him a small glare. 

“Don’t laugh,” he says, a pout forming on his face. 

“I would never, your lordship,” he grins, and the bard shoves him towards Roach. “Careful, your lordship, one might think you are roughhousing with those lower than you.” 

Jaskier’s cornflower blue eyes shimmer with the sunlight, and Geralt sees the cheeky answer before it even comes out of Jaskier’s mouth. 

“Oh, I assure you,” he says, voice dropping low as he comes closer to Geralt. “I have done much worse than roughhouse with those lower than my status.” 

Geralt knows that, so why does the way Jaskier says it make him feel exposed? The bard grins and winks and keeps walking, strutting with pride. Damn him and his meaningless flirtations. 

The Lettenhove Estate is located on the highest point of the city, atop a large hill, and it is rather beautiful. There are trees in bloom everywhere, despite it being early autumn, and with the sun shining high, the beauty of it is eerie, almost unnatural, and yet… Geralt cannot help thinking it suits Jaskier.

“Pretty impressive, isn’t it?” Jaskier sounds proud, a pride Geralt has never heard before in his voice. At the witcher’s surprised look, Jaskier gives a sharp laugh. “Yes, yes. I assume you wouldn’t have been expecting this from me. Come on, we should keep going. No doubt word of our arrival will have spread, and I would rather not be run over by my over-eager siblings. They can be rather terrifying when they want to.” 

“I can’t imagine anyone in your family being terrifying,” Geralt teases.

Jaskier gives a sharp laugh. There is something uneasy in the sound, something secret that Geralt has sensed before. Jaskier doesn’t often keep secrets, and he lies even less. There are rare instances when he has tried to lie to Geralt, but the bard carries his heart on his sleeves. His secrets are sweet-scented, fluttering across his throat and neck, lighter than a butterfly’s kiss. His lies are sour and angry, words that he dislikes having to say to Geralt. 

This is neither. The smell that Jaskier is giving off, the way he holds himself, is dew-scented, evoking quiet mornings before hunts when the bard plays simple melodies on his lute as Geralt sharpens his swords. It is comfort and peace, and yet the knowledge of oncoming disaster. 

The walk through Lettenhove is punctuated by people bowing and curtsying, and Jaskier points out establishments and interesting sights. As they near the gates of his estate, he grows a little more excited however. He waves around more broadly, and he stands taller. Geralt has always found it surprising how small Jaskier made himself look. His clothing, his speech, his everything, it is all serving a very clear purpose: making him seem less imposing. They are, after all, the same height. Jaskier towers over people too, tall and broad, but unlike Geralt, he doesn’t look this way. He looks… friendly. Kind. Gentle?

“Jaskier!” 

They are just passing the gates when a voice resonates from within the courtyard, loud and bright, and suddenly there is a small child hanging off a startled Jaskier’s waist. 

The child looks incredibly similar to Jaskier. They have the same blue eyes, a shade so unique Geralt could recognize it amongst a thousand of other blues, and their nose is rather similar too, the same slight upturn. They can’t be much older than six years old, eight at most if they are small for their age. 

Are they Jaskier’s child? It wouldn’t surprise Geralt if the bard had children, although the idea that Jaskier wouldn’t stay with his child throughout the year saddens him. And why wouldn’t the man have said anything to his companion? They are friends after all. Geralt would never begrudge Jaskier for having a family. 

Jaskier laughs and lifts the child in his arms, pressing delighted kisses to their face as they giggle. 

“Look at you, my Naellie, how you have grown!” The bard puts the child back on the ground, and they immediately hug him again. “You must be able to ride Tempest by now!” 

Geralt frowns, but says nothing at all. Jaskier is holding his child still, messing their hair and looking happier than Geralt has ever seen him.  _ He deserves it _ , he thinks as his hand inexplicably tightens on Roach’s bridle. 

“Not yet! Mom doesn’t want me to just yet, she says that I still need to grow a bit! But Lydian let me ride Blueberry last week, for a whole afternoon!” 

“Oh, you are lucky! They have never allowed me to ride that hellion.” 

“That’s because you keep referring to my horse as a hellion, when he is in fact a magnificent beast who knows that you are too much trouble.” 

Someone else has appeared in the courtyard, tall and thin, with the same blue eyes as Jaskier and Naellie. They are wearing a blue sash over their dark grey tunic, and while they share similar features with Jaskier, their hair is golden. Still, the resemblance is daunting. 

“I gifted him to you,” Jaskier gasps, mock-offended, and then turns to Geralt. “Surely, my dearest witcher, you will defend me from those fiends!” 

Now the center of attention, Geralt shifts slightly on his feet. Roach is a solid weight next to him, and he anchors himself on that. 

“You do have terrible tastes in horses,” he answers, shrugging. “You don’t like Roach.” 

“How dare you!” Jaskier pouts and moves closer to the mare, petting her muzzle. “Don’t listen to the mean man, I love you my darling.” 

Roach, if she were human, would most likely be rolling her eyes. The only thing that she does however is push her muzzle against Jaskier’s pocket, where the bard is known to hide away sweets. 

“You must be the famous Geralt then,” Jaskier’s sibling says, the smile on their face not matching their assessing blue eyes. 

It’s hard to withstand that blue gaze on him. It reminds Geralt too much of Jaskier when he appraises a crowd: judging those who will be worthy of his attention, deciding what to do with the lot of them… He doesn’t budge though. Jaskier’s family has a right to be distrusting of him, or to want to know more about him. After all, they might think that he is the reason Jaskier isn’t staying in Lettenhove, with his family, as he should. 

“I am. And you are Ser Lydian, are you not?” 

“Ah,” they let out a pleased sigh. “I see Jaskier has talked of me.” 

“Of course I have,” Jaskier interjects, seemingly offended at the very idea that he wouldn’t speak of his family. “It would be cruel of me to make my best friend experience you lot without warning him in the slightest of the perils he will be facing.” 

“Perils,” Lydian rolls their eyes, and extends a hand to Geralt. “It’s a pleasure to meet the man we have heard so much about.” 

“If you trust Jaskier’s word on me, then I will assure you, most of it is fake.” Geralt ignores Jaskier’s protest as he continues speaking. “Your brother has a tendency to take creative liberties which lead to interesting twists in events.” 

Lydian laughs a little, a charming sound, and it's then that Geralt's medallion hums, a shimmer of inhumanity coming through their laughter. Lydian isn't human, and Geralt frowns. 

Jaskier jostles his shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. The bard, the  _ viscount _ , is looking at him with mock outrage, but the softness of his eyes, the tenderness of his touch is the same one as it usually is. 

"Come on, let me introduce you properly now. Geralt, you have met Lydian, my sibling. They are the one who takes care of everything in my name." 

"For which I receive a tidy sum," Lydian hums and bows his head to Geralt. 

"And this is Naellie, the youngest of the family and the brightest of them all." 

"It's a pleasure to meet your child," Geralt says, smiling at the child in front of him gently. 

Naellie is looking at him with a great grin, and once again those blue eyes scan him. 

"My— Geralt, do you think I am Naellie's father?" Jaskier is holding back laughter as he looks at the witcher.

"Yes?" 

"Dearest," Jaskier smiles fondly. "Naellie is my sister! I even told you when she was born! And I came home for a whole year?" 

Geralt frowns. There have been years during which Jaskier did not travel with him long, but there has only been one year during which Jaskier had left in a rush mid-spring. 

"I must have forgotten," he mutters, embarrassment rising through him. "My apologies." 

Jaskier laughs and pecks his cheek. "No worries, Geralt dear. Let me get you introduced to the rest of my family! Lyds, where are Mother and Helen?" 

"They went on a hunt for the day. We did not expect you this soon," Lydian starts speaking again, and this time they are heading inside the manor. 

Geralt follows, and a stablehand appears in front of him. He leaves Roach with the girl, making sure that she knows the mare's needs, and then starts walking again. 

"Do you really battle monsters?"

Naellie, eyes wide as she stares up at him, has stayed behind around him, and Geralt smiles a bit again. 

"I do. Your brother told you stories?" 

"He did! He said you freed him from elves on the first day you met him," The girl says as she trots next to him, trying to match his strides, and Geralt is ready to intervene, correct Jaskier's version of the story when she continues. "He said you were brave and kind and that you convinced the elf to let him go, and then you." 

Oh. So Jaskier has told his family the truth. 

"What else did he say?" 

The girl hesitates, stopping. He can see her thinking, and he waits patiently. She clearly wants to talk again, and just like her brother when he is trying to write his verses and lyrics, her brow is pinched and the tip of her tongue sticking out. 

"If you carry me, I'll tell you." 

He hums, pretending to consider it. Lydian and Jaskier are fast ahead, talking animatedly with one another, and Geralt is happy for his friend. 

"Alright," he tells the youngest Pankratz, and kneels in front of her. "Hop on my back." 

The girl squeals happily and climbs on Geralt's back, tugging on his hair as she sits on his shoulders. The sharp tug makes him wince a bit, but he doesn't say anything, simply stands back up, delighted by the loud giggles she lets out. 

Once again however, his medallion perks up at the sound. It's only a slight tremor, and if Geralt hadn't been waiting for it after Lydian, he probably wouldn't have noticed the vibration, or would have dismissed it as simple imagination. 

"How are you doing up there?" 

"I'm so tall! Jask! Lyds!! Look!” Naellie yells in Geralt’s ear and the witcher winces. 

He had forgotten how loud children could be. In truth, he has never really gotten to experience this kind of trust from children very much. Parents kept their children away from the witchers, too afraid they would steal them or spread their diseases or whatever ill rumours were spread in that particular hamlet, and in Kaer Morhen, there had been no space for tender games. Family is something they had only earned, and discovered, after the Sacking.

So he tolerates the yelling, lets the girl tug on his hair as her siblings laugh. Jaskier is happy here, and Geralt can see why. It is a bit too small for him, this place, like a shirt too tight around built shoulders. The bard could fit in here, could probably lead his people and take care of the land, and of his family, but the call of adventure was too strong inside him. Selfishly, Geralt is glad for that. The Path would be lonely without Jaskier; it always was. 

“Alright, time to climb off my witcher’s shoulder,” Jaskier says, and Geralt ignores the warmth spreading in him at the trust in Jaskier’s voice. His friend doesn’t worry for his sister, despite knowing exactly how dangerous Geralt is. It always sends sparks of happiness running through Geralt, the depth of Jaskier’s friendship for him. The bard continues, lifting his sister delicately. “Calrina will have you on the floor otherwise when she undoubtedly runs to Geralt to make sure he is real.” 

“Do you always talk of your lovely siblings so, Jaskier?” A voice asks, and this time Geralt’s medallion doesn’t only tremble, it calls out to Geralt. “Or do you reserve that for me?” 

The woman who has appeared in the doorway in front of which they had stopped moments ago has deep grey skin, and her long blond hair is undulating as she stares off her brother. Blue eyes meet blue eyes, and Geralt is starting to understand that they really are all related, but how is this possible? There is no humanity in the woman, nothing that would indicate a human parent, and Jaskier is human. He has to be. Geralt would have noticed otherwise... Wouldn’t he?

“Everything alright with your friend?” The woman asks, her voice lingering a little too long on the last word. “He looks like he has seen a ghost or three.” 

“If he had seen a wraith, his lovely silver sword would not be sheathed, sister mine.” Jaskier answers, and grins at his sister. 

She hums, an echoing grin on her face. “Ah, I suppose you would know about his swords and how he sheathes them, brother mine.”

Jaskier stutters, and Geralt tilts his head. Did he miss something? Jaskier knows more about a witcher’s swords than any non-witcher, except maybe the few smiths and armorers that Geralt has learnt to trust and rely on throughout the years. Of course it would make sense that Jaskier knows how Geralt takes care of his swords. 

“You are a menace,” Jaskier hisses, and Geralt smiles a bit. “Here I come at your request, my presence a gift that enlightens your day, and you tease me most cruelly!” 

Geralt is enjoying quietly this side of Jaskier, petty and catty, one that he has only ever seen glimpses of previously. Jaskier is proud, too proud sometimes, and he dislikes being seen as anything but perfect on most days. He relaxes around Geralt, but the witcher has caught him more than once worrying at an outfit before they left camp, before Geralt had even woken up. For how little Jaskier likes rising before dawn, most of the time he is awake before Geralt. 

Here, he is himself, fully. In the few minutes they have been here, he hasn’t straightened his doublet once, hasn’t messed with the cuffs of his sleeves, despite the fact that they are in company. Usually, Geralt would have to stop him from fussing with a gentle slap to the wrist, or a long, thought out distraction. It is… enjoyable, to say the least, to see a fully relaxed Jaskier. 

The woman with him laughs, and Geralt freezes a bit. It is too melodious, too sweet and pearly on the ears, and it screams to him non-human. His training chants in his mind, telling him to draw his sword and fight, but he has grown since the first day he set out on the Path. Creatures deserve a place to live as well, and this one, Calrinia Pankratz, seems to not be dangerous. 

“So,” Calrinia finally says, humming as she appraises him. You are the famous witcher my brother cannot stop talking about. You have been guarding his attention quite jealously, there are more than one who would like to have even a parcel of what you have.” 

“My lady,” Geralt nods to her, respect seeping in his voice. Besides Naellie, he has to admit that Jaskier’s siblings are somewhat intimidating. “Jaskier follows me at no will of my own.” 

At that, she laughs brightly as Jaskier gasps, offended, slapping Geralt on the chest. There is a hurt glint in his eyes and Geralt hurries to smile gently, before he continues speaking. 

“I would much rather know him safe and sound between the walls of his home, but I have found the Path quite troublesome without him, and he seems to like my company to some extent.” 

“When you aren’t busy growling, you are charming, my dear.” Jaskier pats his shoulder lightly and turns to his sister. “I was expecting more eagerness from you, dearest sister.” 

Calrinia, blue eyes sparkling with mischief, boops her brother’s nose. “Don’t you know better than to expect anything from me now, dearest brother?” 

“Enough, the two of you are dreadfully boring,” Lydian cuts in, their tone harsh, and they soften a bit as they notice their siblings’ pouts. “Have some pity for our poor guest, having to listen to your squabbles, when he has not had a chance to freshen up after a long journey. Surely, Jaskier, you have not forgotten your manners just yet?” 

Jaskier rolls his eyes and grabs Geralt’s arm. “Come, my siblings have decided to be disagreeable, and I will not put up with their atrocious company!” 

Geralt laughs, small but deep, and Jaskier marvels softly, his eyes widening as he takes in his witcher’s amusement. 

“You don’t mean the little Naellie, I assume,” he asks as he bows his head to both Ser Lydian and Lady Calrinia, who grin back at him. “She is quite the admirable girl.” 

“Keep that in mind when she steals your favourite doublet,” Jaskier grumbles, but it is good natured. “Thank you for accompanying me here, Geralt.” 

Geralt follows him through the large manor, servants stopping to bow and curtsy as Jaskier passes in front of them, and Geralt observes more than one blushing as they do so. It makes him feel oddly protective, as if he has to defend Jaskier from all those prying eyes. But he knows Jaskier thrives under attention and constant affection, whether it comes from strangers or close friends, so he says nothing. Regardless of what Geralt perceives, he has no right to snag those little joys away from Jaskier. 

“You never mentioned that your siblings were not…” He hesitates, unsure on how to phrase it, before he decides to be blunt. “Not humans.” 

“Why would I?” Jaskier seems puzzled. “Of course they are not humans, they are my siblings through my mother, it would be rather strange if they  _ were _ humans.” 

Geralt falters in his steps. “Jaskier.” 

The man in question is still moving, and when he realizes that his companion has stopped, he turns to him. “Everything alright?” 

“You aren’t human.” It shouldn’t be a question, isn’t one, and yet Geralt is realizing his world is turning on itself in a single day. Still, the knowledge that Jaskier isn’t human relieves him of a weight he hadn’t realized was strangling him. He feels lighter to be voicing them, as if it makes them more real. 

“I am not fully human, no,” Jaskier agrees, a bit surprised still. “You knew that, didn’t you?” 

Geralt doesn’t answer. Embarrassment and anger are now rising through him; he is a witcher, he should do better than this, should have noticed the little hints. 

“Oh, dear heart,” Jaskier says gently and takes his hand, quietly tugging him into a lavishly decorated bedroom. “You didn’t?” 

“You never said,” Geralt growls, then gulps back the words. “I thought, I don’t know. I thought you were human. Blinded myself to the truth.”

“Geralt, it’s not through any fault or flaw of yours. I conceal my non-human half when we are out on the Path. Even when we are in the wilderness, it is always safer to keep the glamour up than to have to hastily bring it back onto me. I assumed that you knew, that you had seen my ears, had realized from my eyes…” 

The witcher growls again, and then stops, looking away in shame. He has always prided himself on his attentiveness to details, but with Jaskier… There is always something else distracting him. The colourful clothes he wears, the loud jewelry he insists on putting on, the hints of makeup here and there, his voice that opens up the sky… 

Hmm. Perhaps he should have noticed sooner. 

“What are you?” 

Jaskier smiles, punching his shoulder lightly. “How rude! You would think they never taught you manners at Kaer Morhen.” 

“They didn’t.” Geralt deadpans, although a smile tugs at his lips. He’s glad Jaskier isn’t angry with him, that he doesn’t reproach him for not noticing. “They were more focused on keeping us alive.” 

“Well then,” Jaskier hums, delighted twinkle in his eyes. “I suppose I can forgive your lack of manners.”

“How generous of you, your lordship.” The mocking title earns him a slap to the arm and he chuckles. “Are you going to answer?” 

“Dreadful, truly,” Jaskier says haughtily, but his eyes are shining with mirth and his lips twitching as he holds back a smile. “If you must know, my mother is a minor deity of the sea.”

“You’re half-god?” Geralt is astonished this time. 

Jaskier frowns, humming as he searches his words for a second. “I suppose so, yes? But I’m a naiad, more specifically. Born of the sea and the earth, all that. My father was human, so.”

Geralt takes a second or two to register the information, and then he nods. “And your siblings?” 

“Naellie is just like me, a naiad, and Lydian is a dryad, a spirit of the forest. Their father was an elf, and elf and minor sea goddess makes dryad apparently,” Jaskier says with a shrug. “Don’t ask me to explain. Calrinia is a sea goddess, like our mother. Her father was a servant at my grandmother’s palace, apparently? It’s a bit unclear. Mother is not quite fond of remembering those times.” 

“Your mother has… had many lovers,” Geralt says as politely as he can. “But your siblings… they all have the Pankratz name?” 

“Ah, my father adopted them when he fell in love with my mother! Which is why I cannot pass my title to Lydian or even Naellie, because they are not Pankratz by blood. It’s quite ridiculous, frankly. My father was always extremely fond of Lydian and always said they would make an excellent ruler! And they would, of course—“ 

Jaskier is interrupted in his tirade by a servant girl opening the door, holding a basket in her arms, and she startles. 

“My lord!” She drops the basket, full of clean linens, and curtsy. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt!” 

“It’s alright, no need to apologize, dear,” Jaskier smiles and picks up the basket. “We should probably not be in here regardless.”

Geralt is glad to see that Jaskier is gentle with his servants, that his words have no anger or heat. It would have been an unpleasant surprise to discover that Jaskier was a cruel lord the way so many who employed Geralt were. 

“Come on Geralt,” Jaskier says and wraps a hand around his friend’s forearm, leading him away. “I have yet to show you your room. You’ll be in one near mine, so that you don’t get lost too much. You have an atrocious sense of direction.” 

“You are the one who got lost in a village merely a month ago,” Geralt points out as he follows the bard. “My sense of direction is just fine.” 

“Then I just wanted to have you close by, is that what you were looking to hear?” 

Jaskier’s eyes are twinkling and Geralt shakes his head, amused. They keep chatting until they reach a door, and Jaskier gestures for him to open it. 

The room Jaskier has selected for him is spacious, filled sparsely with a large bed and a writing desk, as well as two chests in which he will be able to store his packs. It is filled with light coming from two large windows that open onto a small garden. Geralt looks at it in astonishment, although he has seen luxury in his life, he had never expected someone to grant it to him this way. 

"This is too much," he starts to say, but Jaskier hushes him.

"Don't you start. I picked this room for more than the very comfortable bed, I'll have you know. Open that door on the left, will you?" 

With a wary glance toward the bard, Geralt does as asked and his breath hitches as he sees what is behind the door. 

A large bathing room, with a basin and a small pool indented into the ground are staring back at him. Oddly, it reminds Geralt of the hot springs underneath Kaer Morhen, where he is capable of lounging for hours without a thought going through his mind. Despite his protests during their travels, during which baths are a waste of time and money, Geralt does enjoy bathing and cleaning himself up. 

"I thought we could make good use of those for you," Jaskier smiles, patting his shoulder. "I'll get some oils in town and we will get you a proper bath sometime soon." 

"You're a viscount," Geralt points out, and continues at Jaskier's unimpressed look. "Surely it wouldn't be proper for you to do so, especially here." 

Jaskier rolls his eyes. "If you think that weak of an excuse will get me off your back, you're sorely mistaken. There will surely be a banquet, if not two, and you will be presented in front of my family. Naturally, we will have to shop for you as well, I can't have you completely underdressed at a party with my mother." 

He starts talking and moving around the room, helping Geralt unpack faster than the Witcher has ever seen him before, and there is a manic energy to him, something eager and nervous. Geralt grabs him and, using the only techniques he has ever seen working with the bard, hugs him tightly against his chest. 

Jaskier squirms for a second or two before stopping, tension fading from his shoulders as he hugs Geralt back. 

"What's got you so nervous?" The Witcher asks, one hand coming to soothe the back of his bard, caressing the delicate clothing covering Jaskier. "You weren't nervous when you performed in front of the toughest crowd in Novigrad." 

"I am not... Well, I am nervous, but it is different. When I play for a crowd, I can pretend I am someone else, simply Jaskier the bard. I can be anyone, anything I want, but here..." He steps back, still within the gentle embrace of his witcher, and places his hand on Geralt's chest, tender and light. "As the viscount of Lettenhove, I am not allowed to be a bard. The other nobles in my family's entourage would be outraged if they knew." 

"You're... not a duke or a count, isn't viscount a minor position?" 

Jaskier laughs. "And you pretend to know nothing when we are at court! Yes, it is. However my family is rather important. My mother is a sea goddess, my father saved the prince's life once, and Lydian was taught at King Vizimir's court until three years ago. We have a very prominent reputation to maintain. None of the nobles know I am Jaskier, after all. They all believe the viscount to be a dreadful shut in who refuses most parties, and who is named Julian Alfred." 

Geralt smiles gently at the scoff his friend lets out and caresses his cheek. "It can't be all that bad—" 

His sentence is interrupted as an old woman walks in and startles Jaskier, leaving the bard scrambling backwards and flushing red on his cheeks. 

"Julian," the old woman says, her tone chiding but her eyes amused. "You should not be alone with your beloved in a room if you're not wed." 

Beloved? 

"Nan!" Jaskier rushes to her, blushing furiously. "I am not, we are not— Geralt isn't my beloved! He is only my friend. My witcher friend?" 

"Ah yes," the old woman nods, patting Jaskier's cheek. She has a similar air about her, although she is absolutely human, to the very tip of her nose. "The one you sing so much of." 

"Nan, stop," Jaskier pleads. "I was just showing Geralt his rooms." 

She hums, a knowing look on her face. "You know, your grandfather loved to show me around places, it was always very romantic—" 

"Oh Melitele have mercy, I do not want to know the rest! Was there something else you wished to tell me?"

"The urgency of the youth," she sighs. "Your mothers have returned." 

Jaskier doesn't simply perk up at that, he lights up. His whole face splits into a wide smile, and he is out of the door before Geralt even has the time to talk. 

"Come along, witcher," the woman says. "I don't believe we have had the pleasure. Lady Anarose. I'm the grandmother of the hothead who just ran out of this room." 

"Geralt of Rivia," he introduces himself, bowing his head as he reaches her. "It's a pleasure to meet you." 

She is taller than he had originally thought, but she is still smaller than most people Geralt is used to. Witchers are made taller by the mutagens, and Lambert is the shortest of them, but he would still tower over Anarose. The top of her head barely reaches Geralt's shoulder. 

"Give an old woman your arm, will you?" 

He chuckles and extends his arm. "Where would you have me lead you, my lady?" 

"Oh none of that! You are family, you will call me nan, boy." 

Geralt stops himself from pointing out that he is older than she is, and smiles at the casual trust and intimacy of being allowed to call her nan. 

"Very well. Then wherever shall we go, nan?" 

"Why, to see my daughter and her wife of course!" 

She says this so naturally that it takes him a second to realize what the woman has just said, and by then they are already walking down the corridor, Nan telling him a story about the manor as they do so. 

He waits until the end of her story to talk again. “I was not aware Jaskier’s aunt was here as well, I thought we were heading to see his mother?” 

“His mothers,” she repeats, insisting on the plural, and she grins at the look on his face. “It took my daughter quite a number of years to understand that she was a woman, and her wife stayed at her side and loves her still.” 

“Oh,” Geralt can only say, and at the angry glare she directs him, he explains himself. “I mean no offence, my lady! I was simply unaware of the situation. I believed Jaskier’s father to have died.” 

Lady Anarose laughs as she keeps walking. “I suppose that is understandable. We have kept this affair to ourselves, even most of the nobility around us do not know. Stupid, closed mind idiots. Can’t even show them how talented my grandson is.” 

“Jaskier was telling me he can’t play here?” 

“Ah, yes. He can play, just not as Jaskier. Here, he is Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove, humble servant of King Vizimir.” 

“That’s a mouthful,” Geralt says under his breath, quite certain that she won’t hear. 

The Pankratz matriarch surprises him by snorting and elbowing him slightly, and if he had had any doubt of her relation to Jaskier, it is all but forgotten now. Despite the wrinkles and the old age, she is vibrant, her mind sharp and her tongue sharper. He walks with her, listening to her chat as she tells him more about the manor and its inhabitants. It is rather strange to not feel unwanted in such a place; he is used to being a freak, treated as lesser. This feeling of gentle acceptance that he feels from everyone around, how there is no one that seems wary of him… It is just like being alone on the road with Jaskier. There is comfort in it. 

They stop in front of a door and Lady Anarose pushes the door open.

Inside, Jaskier is being embraced by a tall woman, skin shimmering with colours every few instants, and when she opens her eyes, Geralt sees blue irises staring right back at him. She straightens up, kissing her son’s forehead, and smiles at Geralt. Jaskier goes to embrace the other woman, a smaller woman with long brown locks and gentle grey eyes. That one is human, while the first one smells of brine and sea foam, the scent of a goddess. 

Geralt doesn’t bow. There is the urge inside him to do so, a tug on his mind, and he wonders if that is the goddess’ intention, or if she simply has that influence over everyone she meets. 

“Helen, dear,” the goddess says, and waves crash in Geralt’s mind. “Our son brought his friend home.” 

The other woman, Helen, looks up, and she stiffens slightly. “Julian, dearest, you didn’t say you were bringing a guest!” 

“Well Calrinia wrote to me in the middle of the year, when I was sure to be with Geralt, and he kindly offered to escort me to Lettenhove,” Jaskier says, and Geralt does his best not to react at the twisting of events the bard presents. “Was I to let him sleep in an inn when I could offer him the comfort of our home, mama? He has kept me safe throughout the years, and has been a faithful companion, and I do believe that I owe him this much. Would you not agree?” 

Helen Pankratz sighs tiredly, rolling her eyes at her son’s antics, and she nods to Geralt. “Welcome to Lettenhove, Master Witcher. My son has spoken highly of you.” 

“It’s a pleasure, Lady Helen,” Geralt answers, and then nods at both women. “Jaskier was so excited to come home he failed to inform me that I would meet you both.” 

The goddess laughs a bit. “Did he now? Julian, did you also forget to mention we were not all human here?” 

“I may have,” Jaskier says, a bit embarrassed. “I thought he knew!” 

“Silly boy. Geralt, was it? I’m Emmie.” 

“Pleasure, Lady Emmie.” 

Emmie grins, looking so much like Jaskier in that moment that Geralt can’t help but smile back ever so slightly. The bard is looking between his mothers and Geralt curiously, almost suspiciously, but he quickly bounces back, coming closer to Geralt once more. 

Jaskier’s mothers smile together, and start chatting with them, and while Geralt doesn’t say much, he observes. Jaskier is happy here, talking excitedly as Lady Emmie serves them all tea, and all the siblings start filtering in. Lady Helen hugs them all, lifting her youngest daughter in her arms. Jaskier’s heart is beating fast, excitement and joy running through his veins, and the sound reassures Geralt. With a nod to Lady Anarose, who has now walked into the room and is chatting with her grandchildren, he leaves, closing the door behind himself. 

It takes him some time to retrace his steps back to the room Jaskier has set aside for him, and there are a few times he gets lost. By the time he gets back, his packs have been arranged neatly on top of one of the chests, there is a roaring fire in the fireplace, and the door to the bathing room is open, letting more warm air into the room. There is another heartbeat in the room, and he quickly realizes that it is a domestic in the bathroom, heating up the water with carefully measured movements. Their hands are looking red with heat as they plunge them into the water, and there is no hissing sound, simply a careful simmer and the water bubbling ever so slightly. It seems that the Pankratz family aren’t the only non-humans around. 

The servant finally notices him and they startle. 

“My lord!” They get up hurriedly, bowing and splashing water over themselves. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. Lord Pankratz had a bath drawn for you and we weren’t informed you would be returning earlier. I am quite sorry, my lord, this won’t happen again.” 

“No need,” Geralt grunts. “You did nothing wrong. Thank you.” 

The domestic bows again and leaves quickly, almost running out of the room. Geralt sighs. Finally alone. 

He is relaxing in the bath when Jaskier bursts in. 

“Geralt, we have to get you a new outfit!” His face is red with tears, although Geralt can only smell overwhelming joy coming from him. The witcher frowns and Jaskier continues. “We have a banquet to attend in a week!” 

“No,” Geralt says, and closes his eyes again, leaning back against the edge of the tub. “You have a banquet to attend, I don’t.” 

“It wasn’t an invitation, dear,” Jaskier says, walking inside the room. “It was a summons. You are coming to a banquet with me, and you will be properly dressed, and that is a threat.” 

Geralt blinks an eye open and grins slightly. “A threat? What can you do, your lordship?” 

Jaskier sits near the edge of the pool, grinning back. “Well, I could do this…” 

He plunges his hand into the water, and it turns ice cold. Geralt yelps, leaping out of the water in an instant, and Jaskier’s smile turns wicked. 

“So?” 

“I think I preferred you when you were human,” Geralt growls, wrapping a towel around his waist. 

Jaskier hums, getting back up. “Never was, dear. We will get you fitted in the morning, yes?” 

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” 

“Absolutely none whatsoever,” the bard sings, coming closer. “We’ll get you some nice oils for your hair as well. Don’t be such a grump, it will be fun!” 

It isn’t fun. As Geralt had suspected, it isn’t fun  _ at all _ . 

The streets are crowded in the morning, and Jaskier refused they bring a horse. Instead, he has taken Naellie with them, the girl running around the streets, and dragging Geralt around. People stop them, greeting Jaskier with deference and a familiarity Geralt hadn’t been expecting, and they give Geralt the same treatment. It is overwhelming, all the scents and sounds, and he is glad when Jaskier pulls him into a shop. 

The sound of the street dies down there, a magical bubble of silence covering the shop, and Jaskier looks at him worriedly. 

“Are you alright? This must have been a lot. I had forgotten today was market day.” 

“I’m fine,” Geralt grits out, his ears still ringing from the sound of people crowding into each other. If he is called “my lord” once more today, he will snap. “Just need a minute.” 

Jaskier nods and takes Naellie’s hand, leading her away with a gentle whisper. Geralt breathes in, focusing on the quiet heartbeat of his friend. He has always found peace in listening to Jaskier’s heartbeat; it’s a comforting sound that has helped him stay grounded more than once. If he tried to explain it, it would be useless. He doesn’t have Jaskier’s way with words, doesn’t know how to express the sense of home he has whenever he focuses on Jaskier’s heart. 

“Master witcher. Welcome to my humble abode.” 

Geralt frowns, taking a second to refocus his eyes, and finds himself facing a small, plump man, with green skin and shimmering pink eyes. A goblin. How odd. 

“It is anything but humble, master weaver,” he answers quietly.

“You have a keen eye,” the goblin says with a bright smile. “I am indeed the one who weaves the clothes made here. My wife is the one who cuts and makes the clothes into what they are, but as she is busy with another client, she asked me to come take care of you and Master Julian.” 

Jaskier pokes his head from the next room at his name. “Geoffrey! What a pleasure to see you. Helena is busy?” 

“That she is, Master Julian!” The goblin sounds proud as he ushers Geralt into the room where Jaskier already is looking at fabrics, Naellie bouncing around him. “Busy as a bee, ever since Ser Lydian named our shop the favourite establishment of your family! It is a great honour, truly.” 

“You deserve it, my friend.” Jaskier smiles, and Geralt finds himself surprised at how comfortable Jaskier is here. “Your shop is the only one I would trust dressing my siblings, and my mothers as well.” 

This time, Geralt feels a bit of panic rising. Hadn’t Lady Anarose said that no one knew about Lady Helen? 

“You flatter me, Master Julian.” The goblin’s cheeks are darkening, going from a light green to a deep forest green. “Your family are excellent customers, and good people. We are quite lucky to have been offered safe haven in your city.”

Jaskier smiles and touches a deep red fabric. “We are lucky to have you. You have outdone yourself on this one, Geoffrey! Do you think it would suit me?” 

Questions swarm around Geralt, and he is quickly asked to pick colours and textures. Jaskier helps, but Geoffrey insists on having Geralt’s opinions. He is made to try on shirts, doublets, sashes, anything that can be deemed appropriate for an event like a banquet at the Pankratz household. 

Jaskier is at ease in the shop though. He wanders around, talking to himself in a low voice every once in a while. Whenever Naellie finds a pattern she enjoys, he talks with her about it, asking her what she likes about it. It’s endearing, really. Geralt loves kids, always found them kinder than their parents, and Naellie is no exception. She is bright and full of life, and she shares with Jaskier a high pitched excitement that would make Geralt wince if it belonged to anyone else. 

They manage to settle on a colour and material for Geralt, a blue cotton that Geoffrey assures him will be lovely once Helena is done creating the patterns. The goblin takes his measurements and then shoos him into the waiting room with Naellie. 

“I want to keep it a surprise,” Jaskier says apologetically. “Take care of Naellie will I make my pick, will you?” 

Geralt nods and his friend smiles, closing the curtains, and no matter how much he strains his ears, he cannot hear a word of Jaskier’s conversation with the tailor. 

“Helena put silencing spells over all the rooms,” Naellie tells him when she sees him frowning at the curtains. “Why do you want to know what my brother is going to wear at the banquet?” 

Geralt hesitates for a second as he thinks of an answer for her. Why does he want to know indeed? It’s the first time since they met that Jaskier insists on keeping an outfit a secret; usually, he will simply start changing in front of Geralt while glaring at the witcher until he puts on the clothes the bard laid out for him. It is slightly unsettling to have this routine disturbed. 

But perhaps it is presumptuous of Geralt to assume that he is to attend the banquet with Jaskier. After all, he will simply be present at the banquet, rather than accompanying him. This is a celebration for Jaskier and his family, and Geralt has no right to upstage that by demanding Jaskier to be present with him throughout the evening. 

“I suppose I don’t need to,” he tells the girl as he sits on a wooden chair. “I’m not used to him keeping things a secret from me though.” 

“It’s not a secret, it’s a surprise!” She smiles widely and climbs onto his lap. “You have very pretty hair, Mister Geralt.” 

“Do I now?” Geralt can’t help the smile on his face. “Thank you. Yours is lovely too, Lady Naellie.” 

Her nose wrinkles as he says the title. “I’m not a lady!” 

“Oh? What are you then?” 

“I’m a naiad,” she says proudly, her heels digging into his thighs as she stands up and puts her hands on her hips. “Like Jaskier!” 

He hums, gently making her sit in the chair next to him. “Shall I call you Mistress Naiad then?” 

“No,” she pouts, crossing her arms and swinging her legs. “You can call me Naellie like everyone else.” 

“Then you have to call me Geralt.” 

There are a few seconds of silence as she thinks about this, and then she nods and extends her hand. “Deal.” 

Holding back a smile, he shakes it. “Deal.” 

Geralt chats with Naellie while they wait, and when Jaskier comes out, he realizes that the day will not be spent back at the manor. It flies by relatively fast, for which he is grateful, and when they walk back into the courtyard of the Pankratz manor, Geralt's arms are laden with bags full of baubles and other interesting items that Jaskier insisted they would need. 

Lydian and Lady Helen are training in the courtyard, rapiers clashing as they take in the other seriously. Geralt allows a servant to take away the bags and watches. They are good, although he can clearly see that Lydian is holding back some of their strength. It's impressive that they have this amount of control though, and he finds himself itching to join in. 

Calrinia walks by, wearing an armor similar to Lady Helen's with a crest of the sea with four stars above it on the chest.

"Care to join, Geralt?" She asks, fishing a training sword from a pot filled with such items. "We could use someone new to challenge us. Especially a witcher." 

"I would love to," he says, and looks at Jaskier. "Unless you need me?" 

"Go ahead! I'm going to go talk with Mother. Do not dare hurt my siblings, or my mother, Geralt. I will hunt you down to the very edge of the world." 

"You already did that once and look where we are now," Geralt teases, and Jaskier laughs. 

Geralt has always loved hearing Jaskier laugh. It's a warm sound, something that has always meant comfort and peace for at least a few hours. Even here, where Geralt knows they are safe, the laughter makes him happier. 

Once Jaskier and Naellie are gone, he grabs a training sword and joins Jaskier's family in their training. Just as he thought, they are good. Lydian is the best of them, but each of them provides an interesting challenge, and when they team up on Geralt, the wither has no chance of winning. 

The days after this settle into a routine. Geralt wakes up mid-morning to breakfast ready and waiting for him inside his room, before going to see Roach to check on the mare. There, he finds one of the Pankratz ready for training, and they spar for an hour or so, before lunch is called and they each run back to change into proper attire. In the afternoons, he stays with Jaskier while the bard goes around the estate, talking with Lydian and Calrinia about what needs to be done for the city to prosper. 

From what he has glanced, Lettenhove is a safe haven for non-humans on the Continent. Most of the lower nobility are human still, but they have all learnt to accept the creatures living amongst them. Geralt is rather sure he has glimpsed a higher vampire on one of his evening walks, but when he had brought it up to Jaskier, the bard had nodded and indicated that it wasn't surprising. 

The only thing that keeps Geralt from being completely lulled into the peaceful routine is that Jaskier refuses to tell him what exactly they will be celebrating at the banquet. No matter how many times he asks Jaskier or his family, he cannot get an answer. It seems Jaskier has decided to keep more than just his outfit a surprise. It’s frustrating, and he wants to know, but he respects Jaskier’s desire to keep it under wraps until the proper moment. 

Two days before the banquet, Geoffrey and Helena come to the manor to have him try on his outfit. Helena is a small, fair haired and fast spoken goblin woman, with a rather severe look on her face, although as soon as she starts speaking Geralt realizes she is just as chatty as her husband. 

The outfit mostly fits, although Helena tuts a bit and takes down a few notes, pinching the fabric in some places, and patting Geralt’s chest when he has removed the new clothing. 

“Don’t you worry, dear, you will be quite perfect for your evening with Master Julian.” 

“Thank you,” he says, albeit starting to grow uncomfortable under her relentless gaze. “Is there something else, my lady?” 

She giggles a bit and pats his chest again. “I need to have a talk with the Viscount. You need to have more outfits, if you are to be—“ 

“That’s enough for today, Helena dear,” Geoffrey says in a hurry, and his wife stops herself mid-sentence. He continues with a smile, “You will have your clothes delivered to you the morning of the banquet, Master Witcher. Thank you for receiving us.” 

The couple exchange furious hand gestures as they pack up, and no matter how much Geralt tries to decipher it, he cannot understand it. They bow slightly and leave the room in a hurry, and he can hear them whispering in the hallway, although the words are lost on him. 

He has nearly forgotten that particular incident by the time of the banquet. One of the household girls, a maid by the name of Lila, is helping him dress, and she laughs a bit as he grumbles through the complicated lacing of the shirt and the tight buttoning of the doublet. 

“My lord is a lucky man,” she hums as she brushes Geralt’s hair. “Having a companion such as yourself...” 

He grunts. “I doubt most people would see it as something lucky.” 

“Do give yourself some credit, Master Geralt! Master Julian is very happy to be travelling with you, and he has been reciting the tales of your adventures together for years now. We were all very surprised when he brought you here!” 

He hums, enjoying the feeling of her fingers in his hair. No one matches Jaskier’s way of taking care of his hair, but she is rather good as well. 

“Of course, we knew it was only a matter of time, but so soon! Only ten years, can you believe that? Lady Calrinia has yet to introduce her own friend to the family! She has kept it a very tight secret, of course, she is much more private than her brother, but still…” 

Geralt frowns, blinking an eye open. “What are you talking about?” 

Lila blushes a bit. “Ah, of course, sir. My apologies, I should not run my mouth like this.” 

The witcher is about to ask another question when Naellie barges into the room and plants herself in the doorway. The little girl is dressed in blue and pink frills, and she looks exactly as young as she is. Geralt can’t help the fond smile that blooms on his lips. Jaskier’s younger sister has really grown on him, accepted him into the family with no questions asked. 

“Geralt,” she yells, and then stops herself as she realizes he is sitting on a chair with Lila standing behind him. “Ah good, Lila is here too.” 

“Naellie,” the witcher answers, biting back a smile. “Pretty dress.” 

“Thank you,” she says, a light blush dusting her cheeks. “I chose it myself. Now, we have to talk of your hair!” 

“My lady,” Lila interjects. “Your brother indicated that Master Geralt was to have his hair loose, as he most often does…” 

“But where is the fun in that?” 

The pout on the girl’s face is adorable, and Geralt can’t help but yield. With a look at Lila and a nod, the maid sighs deeply, although he can sense her fondness, and Geralt smiles. It seems most everyone is under the charm of the youngest Lady Pankratz. 

“What should we do with his hair then?” 

Naellie walks further into the room and thinks for a few seconds, looking at Geralt critically. Her own hair is left free, cut short around her face and giving her a dark halo. That is one of the few differences between Jaskier and her; while he has inherited their human mother’s hair, Naellie has their godly mother’s prominent features. 

“He should have a braid.” The girl nods, decidedly, and sits herself on Geralt’s bed. “On the side! So Jaskier can still be happy with most of the hair undone.” 

Geralt approves with a nod, and Lila makes a quick work of it, her fingers nimble and delicate, tugging at his scalp a few times but never enough to hurt. As she does this, Naellie keeps up a steady chatter, and Geralt listens attentively. She is giving him a rundown of the guests, he thinks, although he can’t be sure that it isn’t a criticism of those she has seen. For a soon to be seven year old, Naellie has many opinions, and she is not afraid of voicing them. 

When she is done, Lila turns to the young girl and smiles. “Would you like to match with Master Geralt, Lady Naellie?” 

The blue eyes of the girl light up, and she is bouncing out of the bed in an instant. She comes to sit on Geralt’s knee, and Lila laughs a bit, amused by how easily the witcher has become accustomed to the child holding onto him. Braiding Naellie’s hair is a slightly longer task, but Lila uses every ounce of her patience and experience to accomplish it, and when she is done, the little girl gasps loudly as she admires herself in the mirror. 

“I’m so pretty!” She giggles loudly and hugs Lila. “Can you take care of my hair more?” 

Lila smiles and nods. “I’ll see with Lady Helen, my lady, and I will read up on how best to care for your type of hair. It would be an honour to help you.” 

Naellie is pleased by this answer, or at least Geralt assumes so as she giggles and hugs the maid again. Geralt is just standing up and finishing getting ready when there is a knock at the door, and it opens without waiting. Jaskier stands in the doorway, and it takes a moment for Geralt to breathe again. 

The bard is dressed in a skin-tight purple outfit with golden accent, his waist highlighted by a golden sash. He is stunning, blue eyes shining happily, and Geralt can almost  _ taste _ the sweetness of his joy. If Geralt came closer, if he were to smell Jaskier from closer, to let his tongue wander down the man’s neck, where he has seen more than one hickey throughout the years, he knows he would taste sweet and heady mead and the floral, nearly overwhelming, taste of hibiscus. 

“Everything alright, Geralt?” 

Jaskier’s question brings him back to the moment and Geralt frowns. What in all the hells were those thoughts? 

“I’m fine. Let’s go.” 

“What, not even a small ‘what the hell is this outfit, Jaskier’ or ‘always too much, bard’?” He is grinning as he does the impressions of Geralt, and Naellie laughs into her hand. “I’m disappointed Geralt, disappointed I tell you.” 

“Be as disappointed as you want, we have to get going, no? You are the host.” 

“Technically, as the matriarch of the family, my grandmother is hosting. But I am the viscount,” he grins at that, and Geralt frowns, “So I should be there as early as possible.” 

Geralt hums, and lifts Naellie when she asks, letting her rest against his hip. Jaskier has a soft look in his eyes, but he doesn’t comment on his sister being in Geralt’s arms, albeit complimenting the girl on her outfit. They leave after thanking Lila, who seems delighted under the attention, and then they make for the ballroom. 

Jaskier chats with Naellie and Geralt, but there is something about him, a nervous sort of energy that Geralt can’t quite identify. He isn’t quite sure he likes it. Usually, Jaskier is an open book to him, and this is unsettling. Still, it isn’t necessarily bad, Jaskier doesn’t look to be strained or unhappy, and rather he seems excited, his nervousness bundling under his skin and making him talk faster than usual. 

They reach the doors of the banquet room rather fast, and Geralt lets Naellie back on the floor. The girl rearranges her dress properly and grins at them both before running inside. As she slides through them, the door gives a glimpse of a room full of people, and Geralt feels dread in his stomach. The thought of having to spend all evening with people that Jaskier doesn’t like or trust is not an appealing one. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier says softly, reaching for his arm and squeezing it lightly. “If it is truly unpleasant, you are free to leave whenever you feel the need to. I would understand.” 

Geralt nods and extends his arm properly. “Alright. Let’s go in, my lord?” 

A light blush blooms on Jaskier’s cheeks and the bard hums an agreement, holding onto Geralt’s arm and walking inside the room with him. 

All eyes turn upon them as they do so, and Geralt resists the urge to walk out of the room. Jaskier’s fingers tighten ever so slightly on his arm, as if he is aware of the thoughts running through Geralt’s mind, and they move through the crowd slowly. Jaskier introduces him to everyone, and maintains perfect composure as some of the guests make snide remarks. When they do, his blue eyes shine with hot anger, and Geralt gently elbows him to stop him from doing something reckless he would later regret. 

They do manage to reach the family table after half an hour of mindless chatter, and Geralt’s ears are buzzing as he sits next to Calrinia, who grins at him. The eldest of Jaskier’s sisters is dressed in a long green dress decorated with golden floral embroidery, and she has a small tiara over her hair. It doesn’t stop her from looking devilish as she looks at Geralt. 

“Enjoying the company?” 

Geralt grunts. “Can’t say I love banquets, or parties like those.” 

She laughs a bit. “That much was clear. You must really enjoy my brother’s company to subject yourself to something like this willingly.” 

“He didn’t leave me much of a choice.” 

“Ah,” she smiles, amused by something he isn’t quite sure he understands. “That explains it all then.” 

The witcher is about to say something else when Lady Anarose rises up, clasping her hands together, and the hall quiets down as the matriarch stares them all down. Some of them shiver as her brown eyes rest on them with quiet intensity. So the Pankratz family really is respected and feared in this part of the world. 

“My lords, ladies, and gentlefolk of all kind, it is with pleasure the Pankratz household welcomes you into our home. Now, I am certain you are all wondering why exactly we have called you here on such short notice.” A wicked glint lights up her face, and she keeps talking, her voice carrying well throughout the room without ever weakening. “It would be deceitful of me to pretend that there are no ulterior motives, but I believe I will leave my grandchildren to talk of this.”

Jaskier stands up as the old woman sits back down and bows his head to her. “Thank you, Lady Anarose. I am sure you all have theories, and I shall not keep you waiting.” 

With all the theatrics Jaskier possesses, he drinks from his glass wine, and smiles at his audience. “It is my simple delight to announce that I am abdicating the title of Viscount of Lettenhove.” 

The silence turns sour, and soon whispers erupt. Geralt stares at Jaskier, unsure if this is a tasteless joke or if the man is serious. He knew Jaskier wanted to renounce his title, but he had mentioned that it was impossible. How…? 

Only when furious whispers start rising through the crowd does Jaskier speak up again. “Please, do not be worried. I am not abandoning my family, nor am I leaving it unruled until an heir of mine is able to take control of it. You are all acquainted with my sibling, Ser Lydian. They will be the new ruler of Lettenhove. As the new Viscountex, they will be the one you shall defer to. They have been acting in my stead for the last seven years as I adventured on the roads with my faithful companion, Sir Geralt of Rivia.” 

“My lord,” a middle aged lady moves to the front of the crowd, her eyes shadowed by anger, and Geralt feels an overprotective surge go through him. He is thinking up ways to protect Jaskier when she continues. “You cannot abdicate your title when there are no heirs! And Ser Lydian, despite their great qualities, are not of your father’s blood. It was extremely kind of his lordship to adopt Lady Emmie’s children when he wed her, but—“

“Enough!” Jaskier interrupts, putting his cup on the table roughly. “Whether they share my blood or not, they will be the new ruler of Lettenhove, and you will accept them as your liege or you shall suffer the consequences they see fit.” 

“My lord—“ 

“If you interrupt me one more time, Lady Meredith, I shall have you escorted out of the manor.” Jaskier’s voice is icy cold and Geralt frowns. It isn’t like Jaskier to be like this, but Geralt can see the imperfections in his masquerade. His hands are gripping the table yes, but they have a slight tremor, and he is standing too straight, too tall. It’s something that Geralt knows Jaskier finds uncomfortable; he likes better to be seen as smaller and gentler, rather than as the imposing man he should be. Still, the bard continues. “There are laws to follow, Lady Meredith, and I am no stranger to them.” 

_ You only ignore them when you so wish, _ Geralt thinks to himself, but keeps himself from speaking. Although, Calrinia’s amused glance tells him she has most likely guessed where his thoughts have gone. 

“And as I have discovered, there is such a special law that forbids me from ruling. Ser Lydian, care to remind me what the wording was exactly?” 

Lydian, a sly smile on their face, stands up and takes out a scroll from a hidden pocket of their outfit, and comes to stand next to their brother. With a flourish that highlights Jaskier and their related parentage and education, they extend to him the scroll. 

“If I recall correctly, ‘no lord can be gone from his ancestral lands for a year without appointing a steward in his stead, or his title shall be removed, and the king will be in charge of replacing him as head of the house’ was the wording of the law.” 

Jaskier hums, and nods. “Yes, I do think that was it. And as I never appointed a steward after leaving, and have left my ancestral lands for as long as two years, it was Lady Anarose’s duty as matriarch of the Pankratz house to reach out to King Vizimir. His Majesty then appointed Ser Lydian as acting ruler of the Lettenhove estate, on the condition that it remains under the Pankratz name. As none of you ignore, Ser Lydian was adopted by my father. Thus, they are a Pankratz.” 

The silence in the room is deafening for a moment, and then a few people start clapping, slowly accepting the new Viscountex. Jaskier is glowing with unabashed pride as he removes a single ring from his fingers, where many remain, and extends it towards his sibling. 

"The Pankratz family crest ring. I bestow it upon you, as the new ruler of Lettenhove."

For the first time, Lydian looks surprised, their eyes glancing at the ring as they hesitate. Jaskier gently takes their hand in his own and places the ring in their palm. 

“Enjoy your new title, my liege,” he grins at his sibling, and happiness radiates off Lydian in waves. 

After a small speech from Lydian, the celebration really begins. The banquet is lively, people coming over to congratulate Lydian and bid farewell to the former Viscount. Jaskier accepts all of the thanks and praise with pleasant diplomacy, but Geralt can tell he is annoyed. Music picks up in the room, not too loud over the crowd, but giving the conversation a rhythm. Jaskier is nearly bouncing in his chair, and he waves a maid over, whispering something to her, and she bows, heading out of the room quickly. 

“What was that about?” He turns to Jaskier, talking a bit louder than he usually would so that he will be heard over the chatter.

The bard winks at him. “You’ll see.”

A few minutes pass, and Jaskier's mothers go to join couples on the floor, dancing and twirling each other. There is no denying that the two of them are in love, and Geralt can see where Jaskier's ballads have been cradled, where he has been taught that love is an unspeakable beauty that he will never cease to chase. 

He thinks back to Jaskier's words when they arrived in town. Jaskier had said Lettenhove would never truly make him happy, that it didn't hold what he needed. But why? Jaskier's family is here, loving and teasing. His people love him, and he is respected by all. 

The maid Jaskier had been talking to slips back into the room, and hands Jaskier his lute case. Geralt frowns. Hadn't Jaskier said he couldn't be a bard here, couldn't let it be known that he is Jaskier and not just Lord Julian? 

"My lords, my ladies, gentlefolk!" He calls out, and the musicians slow down their music. Couples halt themselves, Emmie and Helen walking back to their place at the table. Jaskier continues. "I know that tonight has been rich in information, and you must all be weary of my announcements already." 

A few laughs spread throughout the room and Jaskier smiles, raising his cup towards the crowd. 

"However, I hope you will forgive one last announcement. Many of you will have noticed my companion tonight is none other than Sir Geralt of Rivia, the famous White Wolf who was knighted by Queen Meve of Lyria for his bravery in battle." He lets the audience revel in the declaration before continuing, his flare for the dramatic ever present. "I have a confession to make to you all however. He is not here simply as my guest. He is here at my request, to honor our friendship. As I am his bard, he is my witcher." 

Geralt smiles a bit, amused by the flourish and embellishment Jaskier puts on everything. 

"As such, I shall play you one of my ballads tonight, to entertain you all." 

There are a few gasps as Jaskier rounds the table, his fingers poised delicately on the strings. He starts playing almost immediately, a cheery, jaunty tune that Geralt has heard many times, and once again the Witcher smiles. Here is the Jaskier he knows, the Jaskier he loves. 

Wait. 

He doesn't— does he? Has he been so blind that he has missed entirely the feelings in his chest, misread them as friendship when it was in fact desire and want battling to be known? 

Geralt watches Jaskier as he dances around the room, the bard truly in his element. He is  _ beautiful _ . And Geralt.... Geralt loves him. 

Does Jaskier...? The bard's words from earlier come back to him.  _ As I am his bard, he is my witcher. _ Lila had also hinted at it, and so had Calrinia and... 

Jaskier loves him. 

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Lydian reach over the empty chair of their sister, since Calrinia went to dance with Naellie soon after Jaskier started singing, and the new ruler of Lettenhove looks smug. "Yet Jaskier is quite confident that, had you seen one, you wouldn't be phased. Perhaps a personal realization haunting you?"

Geralt stares at them for a few wordless seconds before he manages to find his spirits again. "You knew. You knew that he loves me." 

"Of course I knew. I don't think there is anyone in the city who doesn't know about my brother's love for you, Geralt. He has never tried to hide it. We all thought he had brought you because you two had finally come to your senses, but it became clear that it wasn't the case when you arrived."

"Why did no one say anything?" Geralt is still half watching Jaskier, who has started singing a new song, Naellie dancing with him while Calrinia claps along. "I've been here for a week." 

"It wasn't our place to say anything," the Viscountex shrugs. "And Jaskier wouldn't have been pleased to know any of us had told you anything. Though it wasn't for lack of trying on our grandmother's part...." 

All of Lady Anarose's remarks, the little teases and jokes that had punctuated Geralt's stay in Lettenhove had had to do with his relationship to Jaskier. How had he not noticed?

“Excuse me,” he says, his world dancing in front of his eyes. How had he not noticed? “I have to go.” 

“Geralt!” Lydian tries to call him back, but Geralt is already standing up and leaving the room. 

He can’t look at anyone, everything moving too fast and too slow. He loves Jaskier. Has for a while, apparently. He doesn’t know what to do with himself now, doesn’t know where to put himself and what to do. Jaskier is… Jaskier is his best friend. He shouldn’t have fallen in love with him. But if Jaskier loves him too, it can’t be bad?

Why would Jaskier love him though? Maybe he is mistaken, maybe they are all mistaken, maybe Jaskier doesn’t—

“Geralt, there you are!” Geralt hadn’t heard Jaskier’s footsteps in his panic, and it startles him slightly when the gentle hand of his friend touches his elbow. He turns to face Jaskier quickly, who smiles at him widely. “I was worried, I saw you leave abruptly and—“ 

“You love me.” 

Geralt’s rough answer seems to have startled him, and Jaskier stops, a pretty blush colouring his cheeks. It takes him a second to come back to himself, and then he looks away. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know we are friends and this puts you in an awkward situation.” 

He takes a breath, seems about to say more, but Geralt can’t let him say something he would regret. If Jaskier is honest with him, then he should be as well with the bard. 

“I love you too.” 

Jaskier’s eyes snap back to him and he can see them widening, and the former viscount takes a shaky breath, steadying himself slowly. 

“You do?” He tries to keep a calm appearance, but his voice is cracking. “Since when?” 

Geralt hesitates. He can’t exactly say since five minutes ago, that would be wrong, but he has no idea how to answer that question. It feels like there isn’t a moment he hasn’t loved Jaskier. During the times they are separated, he has thought about the bard with a frightening frequency, and when they are together, he finds himself calmer, happier. 

“I don’t know,” he ends up saying. “I realized earlier, when you started playing. You were—  _ are _ so beautiful, and kind and sweet and I… I love you. I have for a while but I didn’t realize. And you, um. You love me too. Lydian says you have for a long time.” 

Jaskier swears under his breath. “Damn them. I meant to tell you, but I didn’t want to risk our friendship because of those ridiculous feelings and I.. I was afraid you wouldn’t want me to stay with you, if you knew. Obviously that’s quite ridiculous now, but I couldn’t help and overthink it. You know how I can be sometimes. I’m rambling, aren’t I?” 

Geralt can’t help his fondness when he nods. “You are. Want to stop that?” 

The witcher moves closer, crossing the meter that separates them, stepping into Jaskier’s personal space, and licking his lips ever so slightly. He sees Jaskier’s tongue darting out to wet his own lips as well, and he can feel the hot breath of his bard on his lips. 

“Yes,” Jaskier answers, and Geralt doesn’t wait any longer. 

The first kiss he presses to Jaskier’s lips is chaste, and so is the next, but then Jaskier gets over his astonishment at the kisses and starts answering enthusiastically. It’s a wonder how right it feels, and Geralt presses Jaskier against the wall softly, kissing him still. 

When they break apart, they are both out of breath, and Jaskier’s eyes are glowing ever so slightly. Geralt caresses his cheek, places a kiss on his jaw. 

“Do we have to return to the banquet right away?” 

Jaskier whimpers slightly when Geralt’s teeth graze at his neck. “I suppose our absence could be excused.” 

Geralt grins and comes back up to kiss Jaskier again. This is quickly becoming his favourite thing to do.

[](https://ibb.co/Y0jHnVL)   


**Author's Note:**

> :D Don't hesitate to leave kudos or comments if you feel like it! And if you want to see more work by the amazing artists and writers of the Bang, don't hesitate to go check out the collection! 
> 
> Go give some love to Nol-Nol's art [here](https://nol-nol.tumblr.com/post/643715572516913152/touched-by-your-grace-indigodream-wied%C5%BAmin), [here](https://www.instagram.com/p/CLjBG2TlAqf/?igshid=18warheywoyve) and [here](https://twitter.com/NolIllustration/status/1363401896686276613?s=19)!


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